The 10th Kingdom
by Shamera
Summary: Future 1x2. Fusion with 10th Kingdom, where Duo and his brother Zechs have been sucked into a world where fairy tales come to life!


I'm wishing on a star,  
To follow where you are,  
I'm wishing on a dream  
To follow heart at please  
And I wish on all the rainbows that I've seen  
I wish on all the people who really dream  
I'm wishing on a star  
To follow where you are.  
  
THE 10TH KINGDOM: A Gundam Fairy Tale  
Chapter 1, arc 1  
Shamera  
sitafire@hotmail.com  
  
Duo rested his elbows on the windowsill and leaned into the breeze. If  
he closed his eyes halfway, the trees in front of him looked like a vast   
forest: cool and green, filled with possiblities and adventure. Sometimes he   
sat there for hours, imagining the outcome of made-up fairy tales and feeling  
like a freakin' fairy tale himself sitting up at the tower in the woods.  
  
He touched his own brown hair, wrapped in a braid that fell down to his  
thighs. It wasn't long enough for him to pull a Rapunzel on anyone- no way   
he was going to have anyone climb up his hair! That must HURT. He didn't like   
anyone messing with his hair. Not even comb it. Imagine someone *climbing*   
it.  
  
As if it had heard his thoughts, the breeze tickled a loose strand of   
his hair. He leaned even farther forward, hoping to catch a bird's call of   
perhaps the roar of a wild beast...  
  
Instead a siren wailed in the distance.  
  
Duo blinked and opened his eyes the whole way. The trees before him   
weren't part of any forest. They were a small grove on this side of Central  
Park in the middle of the most urban enviroment in the world- New York City,  
land of the concrete jungles (AN: *smirk* My school..) a place where sunshine  
was rare and exhast fumes ruled.   
  
He could smell them now, toxic and foul. A bus belched on the street   
below, and some passerby, caught in the cloud of black smoke, yelled an   
insult. His tower was really his apartment, the one he shared with his   
brother. They were on the edge of the Park not because they were rich- they   
weren't even close- but because his brother was the janitor in this building   
and the apartment was part of his pay.  
  
His bedroom window was tiny, like the rest of the place, but at least  
it was his. He glanced at the alarm clock beside his bed and sighed. He   
spend the entire afternoon daydreaming. His shift would start soon but he   
wasn't ready for it. His feet still ached from the last one.   
  
He worked at the Grill on the Green, a restuarant at the edge of the   
park. He liked where he worked; it allowed him to meet real people. Sometimes  
it was a trial- like last night, when the place had been so full of tourists  
looking for the New York experiance- but mostly it got him out, seeing   
things, and forgetting where he was at.   
  
So many people in the city were just like him: dead-end jobs, no hope  
for advancement, no way to make new friends, and no way to meet anyone. Last  
night, one of the tourists had said to him, "It must be great to live in   
New York."  
  
He'd just about had enough then. He had been late to work because some  
joker tried to grab his bike, and had been faced with a pissed Duo Maxwell.  
The cook had spilled beef juice all over him in the kitchen, and the spare  
shirt he swiped was way too big. He had to go through the entire night with   
a tray in one hand and holding his shirt in the other to keep it from getting  
in the way.   
  
Great to live in New York? The comment was like putting a flag in front  
of a bull. Still, he restrained himself.  
  
"Great, ojosan?" He asked. "Close your eyes."  
  
The woman, a middle-aged bottle-blond from some Midwestern town, did.  
  
"Now," Duo continued, "Imagine the most boring day of your life."  
  
The woman nodded. She had this little smile on her face.  
  
"Right." Duo concluded, with a tight smile. "Now you have my life in   
perfect focus."  
  
The woman's little smile faded. She opened her eyes and looked   
confused. And Duo had walked off, tossing his tray up and down like one would  
toss a baseball.  
  
But he hadn't been lying. Lately he'd been saying to himself that when  
a guy reaches a certain age- and was still living with his brother!- nothing  
exciting would ever happen in his life. Never mind that he was barely past   
the working age limit at sixteen. The best he could hope for was a way out   
of this city.  
  
Like that was ever going to happen. It'd be as likely as opening the   
front door and finding a satchel of cash.  
  
Duo grabbed with window frame by its peeling paint and tugged the   
window closed. Then he left his room to make sure his chores were done before  
he left. His brother spend his evenings lounging around and reading mangas   
to remind them that they were still children, and if Duo didn't leave any-  
thing for him to eat, his brother wasn't going to eat anything at all.  
  
He took a frozen food dinner out of the freezer, shoved the door closed  
with his back, and placed the food besides the microwave. Then he went back  
into his bedroom and got his bike.  
  
It was a used model his brother had found in a pawnshop, although he'd  
lied and said he'd bought it from one of the bicycle places in the Upper   
West Side. Duo let him have his fiction. He had been in some of the bike   
shops. They wanted to see the rider so that they'd sell a bike that would   
*fit*. He was very small for his age, and the bike his brother bought was   
a little too big. He was used to it now, but he really wanted to stop   
tripping over small things that he had no control of.  
  
As he wheeled the bike out of the bedroom, he steered to avoid the   
tools and paint cans stacked against the hallway's walls. A couple of times,  
his brother had spilled nails here and hadn't bothered to pick them up. After  
blowing one tire, he'd learned to be careful around his brother's workplace.  
  
Before he went out the door, he checked to make sure he had his keys.   
Then, with one hand on the hard seat, and another on the handlebars, he   
wheeled the bike into the hallway.   
  
His brother was in the hallway. His platunim blonde hair stood out in   
sharp contrast to the brown-and-tan flocked wallpaper. He had the call box  
open and wires were dangled from it. The elevator door were jammed open with   
a toolbox.  
  
And Duo's way down was effectively blocked.  
  
His brother didn't notice this, of course. "Look at this," he said.   
"Take a look."  
  
He held out a wire for Duo to study. He peered in as if he were   
interested. "This," his brother proclaimed. "has been chewed on."  
  
Oh great. Either rats or children eating the wiring. Duo wondered why  
he hadn't seen electrocuted bodies lying around if that was what they   
were really doing, but he wasn't going to ask. His brother was great with   
electronics. He would work on it.  
  
Zechs Merquise was exellent at fixing things. He was one of the people   
who could probably fix a broken-beyond-repair appliance with some bubble   
gum and tape. Heck, even Duo could do that. Must run in the family.  
  
But still, it was much easier to tell his brother to fix something   
than to tell him to obey commands. Being nineteen, his brother was more   
rebellous than even Duo, if that was possible.  
  
Zechs shoved the wire back into the box and frowned at Duo. "Where are  
you going?"  
  
"To work." he said, sighing, "Like I do everyday."  
  
Zechs snorted, stuck an "Out of Order" sign on the wall above the open   
wiring box, then mentioned for Duo to get in the open elevator. He wheeled   
the bike in and turned it around, giving Zechs room to follow and get to   
the control panel. It too had the cover off and old wires exposed. His so   
called "toolbox" (it was just a bunch of tinkerings that he used, Duo was   
sure) was open on the floor under the panel.  
  
Zechs didn't even have to look at the wiring before he connected a   
few wires inside the control panel and had the elevator doors close and slid  
down smoothly. Not that it would work for anyone else like that.  
  
"Take the stairs on the way back," he told Duo smoothly. "I'm planning  
on messing this up so the old bat'll have some trouble.  
  
Duo nodded. He was planning on doing that anyway.  
  
Zechs sighed, shifting his hand but making sure the the connection   
stayed. "Finished chores?"  
  
"Yeah," Duo replied. "Your barbecue ribs are on top of the microwave."  
  
His brother frowned, maybe Duo hadn't given the appropriate response-  
and then the elevator jerked to a stop. As the door started to open, Duo   
realized that the frown hadn't been for him. It was for their stop.  
  
The third floor.  
  
Zechs nearly growled at Mr. Winner and his son Quatre got on. But some-  
how he managed to keep his expression neutral.  
  
Mr. Winner owned the building and somehow believed that this gave him   
the right to boss just about everyone around. Zechs knew better, though. But   
because Duo was good friends with Quatre, there was really nothing that he   
could do to the Winners.  
  
Duo drowned out the sound of Mr. Winner starting to lecture to Zechs   
again about whatever broke down that day and how everyone was going nuts over  
it. There was a good reason why Mr. Winner hadn't fired his brother already.  
No one else was able to fix the things he could.  
  
Quatre smiled apologetically from his father's back. Duo only shook   
his head. It wasn't Quatre's fault that his father was being such a jerk.   
  
The elevator reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open. Mr.   
Winner and Quatre got off, their walks full of presition from years of   
practice.  
  
"Drain the system," Zechs muttered, flipping Mr. Winner off behind his  
back. "I'd like to drain *his* system."  
  
Duo only rolled his eyes, not saying anything but leading his bike out  
of the elevator and giving his brother a wave goodbye.  
  
  
  
His feet hurt in the magic shoes, but the rest of him felt pretty good.  
Pretty darn good. Treize, the Troll King, resisted the urge to chuckle as   
he made his way down the hall in the Snow White Memorial Prison.   
  
Getting inside hadn't been hard. A little pink Troll dust, and magic   
shoes, and he was through the main door. Only the vulture outside- the real   
one, the one sitting on the sign- had seen him cross the manicured grounds   
to the drawbridge. And that bird wasn't going to confess nothing to nobody.  
  
The corridor was wide and dimly lit. The shadows were dark. Every few   
yards, however, there were squares of light, with bars, as a bit of moonlight  
came through the grated windows. The torches on the walls burned brightly,   
but they couldn't despel the gloom.   
  
He liked it gloomy. And darkness suited his purposes. He would do well  
here.  
  
He held his hand out in front of himself. Nothing. The shoes were doing  
their trick. No one could see him. And if he was careful, he'd accomplish   
his mission without anyone being the wiser.  
  
He turned into another corridor. The stone walls seemed even wider   
here, but the ceiling was lower, giving the place a tunnel effect. A warder  
carrying an iron latern was going about his rounds. He was tall for a   
human, with a face so mean it could almost be a Troll's. His skull was   
shaved. It looked like a pale, shiny globe of light flashing through the   
shadows. He wore the dark green uniform of all the officials in the Fourth   
Kingdom, and it looked as ridiculous on him as it looked on the rest of them.  
  
The warder stopped. Obviously he had heard Treize's footsteps. Then   
the warder shook his head and continued on. Treize walked behind. The magic   
shoes he wore over his boots make soft footfalls.  
  
The warder stopped and turned. Treize grinned, knowing the human   
couldn't see him.   
  
"Who's there?"  
  
Treize waited as the warder did. Then the human shook himself as if   
berating himself for imagining things, and started down the corridor again.   
Treize followed, picking up the pace. He was close to the cell now. He wanted  
to get there before the magic shoes took away all of his self-control.  
  
The warder stopped again, obviously spooked. "Who's there?"  
  
This time, Treize continued forward, hand in the pouch of pink Troll   
dust. The warder shrank back from the sound of the footsteps, but Treize was  
moving too quickly. He rushed up to the warder and threw a handful of Troll  
dust in his face.   
  
The warder's eyes widened and he looked as if he was going to sneeze.   
Then he fell backwards, body tangled in a heap. Treize peered at him. Pink   
dust covered the human's face. He'd be uncomfortable when he woke up.   
Especially from the way that arm was bending. Pins and needles and maybe a   
pulled muscle or two.  
  
Treize grinned. He bent down and grabbed the warder's keys. Then Treize  
carried them to the cell where his idiot children had gotten themselves   
imprisoned again.   
  
The cell door was sturdy, made of wood and metal strips reinforcing it.  
A thick wooden bar covered the front and was held in place by the lock.   
Treize stuck the key in the lock, turned it, and raised the bar, pulling the   
door open.   
  
His idiot children got off their cots, whirling and turning defensive  
position. He couldn't believe how little they had learned of the things he   
had taught them.   
  
They had lined up in age order. Burly and Blabberwort were seven feet  
tall- the perfect height for Trolls. But Bluebell was only five feet tall.   
He crouched besides his sister Blabberwort and looked more pathetic then the  
other two.   
  
Treize frowned at his children. What a motley crew. Burly had pulled   
his black hair away from his face, revealing his excessively pale skin- like  
his father's- and his gray eyes. His two lower canines rose like fangs,   
nearly touching the steel bone he'd pierced through his nose. He wasn't as   
ugly as a Troll should be, but he was close.   
  
Blabberwort would have been Treize's pride and joy if only she had the  
brains to go with her fabulously bad looks. Her hair was orange and she wore  
a tuft of it in a straight up ponytail shaped like a poodle's tail. Her   
hooked nose was pierced, and she wore a gold ring in the side. She had her   
mother's dark looks, and they seemed to suit her more than her younger   
brother Bluebell.  
  
On Bluebell the dark looks made him look unfinished. His frizzy black   
hair was out of control, and his hooked nose had his imperfectly gnarled   
teeth. He bent his head when he grinned, making him seem shyer than any Troll  
should be.  
  
"You are pathetic," Treize said as he stepped inside the cell. "You   
call yourselves Trolls? You make me ashamed."  
  
They looked surprised at the sound of his voice.  
  
"Sorry, Dad," Burly said.  
  
"Sorry, Dad," Blabberwort said.  
  
"It won't happen again," Bluebell tried to admolish.  
  
As if Treize believed that. "This is the last time I come and rescue   
you. Especially for minor offenses."  
  
"Come on, Dad," Burly said, "Take off the magic shoes."  
  
Apparently his son didn't like his father to be invisible. Apparently   
that made Burly nervous. Which was good. "I'll take them off anytime I want   
to," Treize snapped at him.  
  
"Mustn't wear them longer than you need to," Blabberwort covered.  
  
"Shut up." Treize ordered. "I can handle them."  
  
But maybe he couldn't. He was a bit woozy, and he was enjoying baiting   
his idiot children a little too much. He felt drunk- a feeling he disliked-  
and it was probably a dangerous feeling when he was inside a cell inside the  
Snow White Memorial Prison. Getting caught like this by making judgment   
errors made him almost as much of an idiot as his idiot children.  
  
Which was not a good comparison at all.  
  
He put one invisible hand against the stone wall and pulled off a magic  
shoe. Then he removed the other shoe and staggered a little as he became   
visible.   
  
He watched his children as they saw him appear. All three of them   
leaned away from him.   
  
Good. They were still scared of him. As they should be.  
  
"Take this," he said after he got his balance. He thrust the bag of   
Troll dust into Burly's hands. "I think I got all the guards, but I might   
have missed some."  
  
Burly took the dust and looked at it as if he'd never seen it before.   
Treize glowered at him. Slowly, Burly cupped his hand around it and looked up  
to meet Treize's raised eyebrows.  
  
"Do you want to stay in here forever?"  
  
"No, Dad," Burly said.  
  
"No, Dad," Blabberwort echoed.  
  
"I never want to be in here again," Bluebell said.  
  
Treize narrowed his eyes at them. "Then let's go."  
  
He led them out of the cell. He was still clutching the keys, and he   
still had his shoes, although that wasn't enough anymore. He felt naked now  
that he wasn't invisible, and he had the beginnings of a headache- but   
whether that was from the magic shoes or the presense of his children, he   
couldn't tell.   
  
They crept through two different corridors, retracing his steps. He   
had done a pretty good job of dusting the guards. Not a single one was awake.  
  
**Wait.**  
  
A woman's voice spoke in his head. It was faint, but strong and   
alluring. Treize stopped and so did his kids. They all looked at each other.   
Apparently his children had heard the voice too.   
  
**Come to me.**  
  
We, he didn't have to be asked twice. The guards were out, and he   
wanted to see what kind of female owned a voice like that. He had his   
imaginings- and so, apparently, did his sons, who looked more focused then he  
had ever seen them. Even Blabberwort looked interested, although probably not  
in the same way the men were.  
  
They turned off the main prison corridor towards a sign that read:   
MAXIMUM SECURITY WING. He'd never been in this part of the prison, not even  
on his own. And of course, his idiot children weren't talented enough to   
even comtemplate the sort of despicable deeds that got someone assigned here.  
  
At the end of the corridor was a stout oak door. It looked even more   
solid than the one his children had been stashed behind. Treize pawed through  
his keys until he found the right one. He unlocked the door. It opened,   
revealing another corridor.   
  
Somehow that disappointed him. He wanted to see the owner of the voice.  
  
He led his children farther, and withing a few moments they reached   
another locked door.   
  
Burly's fangs bit into his upper lip. "This is where they keep the   
Queen," He whispered as a sort of warning, the fear filling his every word.  
"No one is ever allowed in here."  
  
Somehow Treize had known that, but he had ignored it. Now he was too   
curious to stop.   
  
He opened this door and found himself in yet another corridor. At the  
very end of it was only one cell. Its door was even thicker- he could tell  
that from this distance.   
  
As he led his grown children down the corridor, he passed a sign: ALL  
FOOD TO BE LEFT IN COLLECTION BOX. It made a shiver run down his back. When-  
ever he'd been in this prison, the guards had handed him his food.  
  
A little farther along was another sign: NO PHYSICAL CONTACT! His   
headache was growing worse. Still his curiousity moved him forward.  
  
As he passed a third sign- ALWAYS TWO WARDERS WITH PRISONER AT ANY TIME  
- Blabberwort looked at him as if she questioned the wisdom of his decision  
to continue. If he weren't questioning the same thing, he could have cuffed   
her for the expression alone. And then he saw the fourth sign: NEVER ENGAGE  
PRISONER IN CONVERSATION.  
  
Did a voice in the head count as conversation?  
  
**Open the door.**  
  
Treize looked at his children. They were looking at him.   
  
**Open the door to everything you desire.**  
  
Okay. That did it. That was enough to convince him. He took a step   
forward and peered through the little barred window that was just below his   
eye level.   
  
A human woman say on the edge of a cot. She wore a gray hood over her   
hair, but the hood was pulled back enough to reveal a stunningly beautiful   
face. She had delicate features and wise blue eyes. He wouldn't have found   
that attractive in a Troll, but in a human- he nearly whistled in   
appreciation.   
  
Besides her sat a golden retreiver. She was stroking it with one gloved  
hand. Treize watched the hand movement, mesmerized.  
  
The woman noticed him. Her gaze met his, and she smiled. There was   
something reassuring about that smile, but another shiver ran down his back  
nevertheless. In that smile lay his future. He didn't know how he knew it,   
but he did.   
  
And the fate of the whole world turned on that smile.  
  
And on what he decided to do next.  
  
  
End chapter 1, arc 1  
  
  
After a long bout of thinking (*gasp*) and talking about it briefly with   
Chris, I decided that there's just NO WAY I couldn't add all the people I   
wanted, and that everyone was going to be WAAAAAAAY OOC. So I thought- what  
the hell, I'll just keep most of the original characters. Poor Heero... I   
can't really see him as a Wolf. @_@ 


End file.
